Page 104 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
He reached for the nearby tumbler and took a sip of his whisky, remembering when he had savored the flavor in a small tavern where life moved about him with smiles and laughter—both of which were now remarkably absent. They’d never existed in this house. There had never been any evidence of love or caring. There had been naught but accusations, anger, and arguments.
He was now spared his mother’s constant finding fault with him because he had moved her into the dower house. He’d thought he’d welcome the peace brought by her absence. Instead he found he missed her for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps because it was too damned quiet now, so quiet he heard the ticking of the clock on the mantel, the crackle of the fire, the occasional rumble of the thunder, and thetap-tap-tapon glass.
Removing his watch from his waistcoat pocket, he rubbed his thumb over the engraving. A dozen times—no, two dozen, three—he’d nearly gone to the Mermaid, nearly gone to her. But she didn’t want his world of balls and dinners and musicales. She had no interest in fancy gowns and glittering jewelry and beribboned hats. He often thought of her in the purple ball gown, but more often he envisioned her in her simple shirts and petticoat-less skirts, the way she strode with purpose and determination through her tavern, through life. A practical woman who opened her heart to friend and stranger alike, with a streak of whimsy to her, who created fairy tales about her origins and believed in mythical creatures and recognized how great a loss it was when another was on the verge of being extinguished.
Tap-tap-tap.
He’d heard about a zoo in Europe that was striving to breed a pair of quaggas, and he’d sent them funds to assist in their efforts because he’d thought it would please her to learn that the beast would carry on, would not die away. That there would be no last time of gazing on one. Because last times were hard, even when one knew it was the last time.
Not a day went by that he didn’t want to gaze on her again, to converse with her, to watch her moving about with purpose but still managing to find the time to place a comforting hand there and offering a kind word elsewhere. To watch her putting tokens in grubby hands and receiving smiles in return. She created smiles, basked in them. He didn’t think he’d smiled once since he left her, knew he’d not laughed.
“Make me proud,” his father had said. The Dukes of Thornley stood above all others because they increased their legacy and holdings by marrying women for land. What rotten bargainers they were, the lot of them.
Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.
He glanced over at the glass door. Lightning flashed, outlining the wraith who stood there. Good God! Tucking the timepiece away, he leapt to his feet, rushed over, and jerked open the door. “Lavinia?”
The boom of thunder, another flash of lightning. Taking her arm, he dragged her inside and shut out the rain. “Lavinia.” He’d given up hope of ever seeing her again, in spite of the handbills he’d paid Robin to spread about.
Unbuttoning her pelisse, she removed it. “Apologies but I’m dripping on your carpet.”
He took it from her and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He didn’t care about the dampness or the wet. “Get by the fire. Shall I send for tea?”
She offered him a small smile, and he wondered if she’d always appeared so sad and he’d merely overlooked it. “A bit of brandy, if you please.”
As he poured, she wandered over to the fireplace, lowered herself into a chair, and rubbed her arms. The frock she wore was plain and frayed, and he would have wagered it came from a mission. He hated the thought of her scrounging among others’ discards, but couldn’t help but be impressed that Gillie had the right of it. But then of course she had. She understood people far better than he ever would. She understood motivation, fear, and longing.
He handed the snifter to her, watched as she brought it up, inhaled the aroma, and took a small sip. “Why didn’t you come in through the front door?” he asked, as he sat in the chair opposite hers.
“I wanted to be certain my brother wasn’t about to haul me home. I got your missive.”
Missive? “Ah, the handbill.”
“Yes. Clever of you.”
“It wasn’t my idea—and it was weeks ago, so I thought it had been fruitless.”
“I spent a lot of time debating whether or not to come. Then I decided you were kind in your efforts and I wanted to reassure you, in person, that I am well. My letters were the coward’s way. You deserved to be told everything in person.”
He settled back in the chair, placed his elbow on its arm and his chin in his palm. “In your letter, you mentioned you were in love with someone. Have you married him?”
She shook her head. “Oh no. But he takes up all of my heart and there would have been none to give to you. Also...” Her voice trailed off as her attention went to the fire.
He waited in silence, not prodding, not prying. Gillie had taught him that sometimes mere presence was enough and patience was kindness.
She took another sip of brandy, licked her lips. His body did not tighten, nothing called to him to take possession of that mouth. Since leaving Gillie, in spite of all the ladies paraded before him, he’d been as chaste as a monk. He’d begun to think she’d cast some spell over him, and never again would the sight of a woman arouse him.
“There are sins in my past, Thorne.” Somber and solemn, she looked at him. “They are not to be forgiven.”
He wanted to ask what they were but he wasn’t certain he had any right to know.
“I could not bring myself to stand in that church before you and God and pretend purity. And I couldn’t marry you knowing I couldn’t give you the love you deserved from a wife. What would have been between us would have been awkward and cold, through no fault of your own. Guilt would have made me a wretched wife, and you are worthy of so much better. My mother gave no credence to my mounting concerns and doubts. I assumed, perhaps unfairly, that Collinsworth would side with her, so I did not confide in him. Instead, at the first opportunity presented to me, I ran. I do not expect you to forgive me—”
“I do forgive you,” he said quietly.
Tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you for that.”
“How are you managing?”
